Fire
by skilletfan1123
Summary: Know the things that go bump in the night, the monsters under the bed?  They're real. They're out for blood.   What's between you and them?  Me.  If you think the world is safe, you're dead wrong. Or just dead.  I'm Nick Fire.   Welcome to my nightmare.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One-Big Trouble.

The clock went _tick, tick, tick, _methodically driving me crazy. I chewed the end of my eraser, then I started tapping, and didn't stop until the kid next to me stomped my foot and glared, informing me that I was going to die if I didn't stop being an annoying weirdo. Amateur. Didn't know a good beat when he heard it.

My cranky science teacher, Mrs. Watts, called my name. She took a fiendish glee in making me look like an idiot.

"Nicholas Fire, what is the scientific name of a bell pepper?" She turned her beady-eyes on me like a magpie happening upon something shiny. In fact, she _looked _a bit like a magpie. Or possibly a rat.

"Um..." I stared at her blankly. Should I actually know that, and should I really care? Because I didn't.

When I didn't answer, she said in a superior tone; "Since you do not know the correct answer, I will call upon someone who does." Eying me disdainfully, she did just that. As a result of my silence, some other kids sniggered irritatingly.

I was busy wondering if her sharp, pointy nose would fit in the class pencil sharpener, when, thankfully, the shrill bell rang. I wrinkled my nose. The bell was too loud. Complete overkill on volume.

As I was in the process of leaping up and darting towards the door, I slammed into somebody. The girl just glowered at me. She looked like a Mafia hit-man with...barrettes. Pink ones.

"Watch it, punk," she growled. I took her advice and fled.

The day followed in a similar pattern. P.E. was awful, which was weird. I've always managed to be pretty good at it. If there is running or movement or anything that involves either a lot of energy or a lot of speed, which my foster-mom, Angie, thinks I have tons of, I'm great at it. She says I'm always _moving_ in some way or another. She fantasizes about me becoming a dancer of some-sort, or maybe a circus performer.

Uh huh. Keep dreaming, mom.

Now, imagine a squirrel pumped up on Double Lattes, plus a whole jumbo-sized bag of Halloween candy, plus twenty Mt. Dews. That's about what my hyperness level is...on a day-to-day basis.

...Okay, I admit, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but not much.

Back to my day.

English was a bore. That's fine. It always is. Band was okay. I've always been pretty musical, and the clarinet I play keeps my fingers busy.

Eventually, the final bell rang, announcing that torture (oops, did that slip out?) was over. School was out.

I was just getting ready to leave campus when my day turned bad and I was slammed into a locker.

"Hey, it's the freak," chortled Jason, one of the football team's full-backs. He's a senior in the high school.

"Yeah, the twitchy little dude!" Angus, a linebacker. I don't know where the Angus came in, but he most certainly looked like a big beef _Angus _burger...a flavorless, really lame one. He's a sophomore. He also follows Jason around like either an obedient puppy or a shadow.

"Hey, freak, d'ya have money?" Jason again. His pale, less-than-intelligent blue eyes were filled with cruel humor.

I began to feel the weird, irrational anger that always came around when something (cough, these two) bothered me.

Unfortunately, it was worse than usual.

"Back off," I snarled through my teeth.

See, usually I just keep quiet and hand over whatever left-over money I have, without kicking up a fuss. Its not really worth fighting for. But today was different. I was tired of being pushed around.

Angus made an irritating honking noise that I assumed was laughter. Jason, sick of sweet-talking, grabbed the front of my shirt and lifted my 115 pound body off the ground just a teeny bit.

"Listen, freshman," he hissed, "I don't have any time for games. Gimme the money."

When I just glared at him, he shrugged.

"Fine then," He nodded to Angus, who reached toward me as if to search my pockets. Suddenly, in one massive burst, all the pent-up anger broke out. Rage engulfed me. These goons had been treating me like dirt for too long. It was time that they learned a lesson.

"Whoa, what's happened to his eyes?" Angus asked nervously.

I felt like I was burning up, filling with molten lava up to my eyebrows.

"Go. Away."

And I made the pushing motion with my hands.

My intention was only to push them a little, to show them how I'm actually not a little bug. I wasn't exactly expecting what happened next.

The two football players went flying across the hallway, and slammed into the opposite wall. Hard. They slid to the floor, out cold.

Sudden exhaustion engulfed me. I collapsed into a heap of clothes, bones, and very freaked-out ninth-grader on the dirty linoleum. Dragging myself off the floor, I staggered down the hallway and into the guy's bathroom. Shouldering aside the door, I stumbled to the grimy mirror, covered with Sharpie scrawlings of names and gang symbols, and stared into it. My reflection, with barely contained terror, stared back. It was a tall guy with wild, bronze hair, large, dark green eyes with streaks of gold and amber in them, ivory skin, and a smattering of freckles across the nose. The face was the face of a troublemaker, with upturned eyebrows, strange, angular features, and high, thin cheekbones at a slant. I turned my head to the side, the me in the mirror copying the movement, and brushed the hair covering my ear away. My ear tapered to a point. Not like a normal, slightly pointy ear like some kids have. Like...something not human.

I turned back to stare at myself, my reflected image doing the same.

"Who am I?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two-Freak

Okay, let me back up a bit. I am a fifteen-year-old freak existing (I would say living, but I don't really know if I am...I go to _high school, _duh) in Seattle, Washington. I lived in an orphanage for most of my life, being shuttled back and forth from foster parents, until someone was guilted into adopting me...Angie. She's regretted that decision ever since she's made it. Poor lady.

Other than that, my life has been...weird.

See, I have an odd school history, too, not just family.

All through elementary school, middle school, and now high-school, strange...occurrences have happened to me.

In first grade, there was this really...aggravating...girl. She would call me Pumpkin-hair. My hair isn't pumpkin! It's _bronze_. Geez. Get your facts straight.

Anyway, she'd call me Pumpkin-head, or Pumpkin-hair, or some stupid thing. For some unknown reason, it got me really mad. I wonder why?

Anyway, I pointed at her, and thought about frogs. Big frogs, little frogs, red frogs, blue frogs...and _voila._ She was covered in frogs, and went screaming like a banshee around the classroom, arms waving wildly in the air and saying some words that no first-grader should know. In second grade, some boy had been kept back a few years, so he was the only kid in the class who had to shave. Bullying was his specialty. He singled me out, seeming to find an intense joy in smashing me to a pulp.

One day, it was just too much. I really wanted to keep a hold of my lunch money that time.

Crazy with anger, I raised my arms and yelled. Suddenly, somehow, moving faster than I could see, he was hanging by his feet from the ceiling, where his feet were embedded in solid sheetrock, crying like a baby. After that, he was totally mute, and ran away from me whenever he saw me.

All my years had some issue like that.

Because of whatever is wrong with me, I've never really had friends. Angie's tried to show me that "being nice to someone, and buying them a Gatorade" is the best way to make buddies. Never works. They either take the Gatorade and stump away, or stare at me blankly. It doesn't bother me anymore. I'm pretty much used to it. I'll always be an outsider, a freak. That's never going to change.

As I was walking home from the high-school, (Jason and his crony had made me miss the bus) I thought about what Angus had said. What about my eyes? What was wrong with them?

I was still stewing over that when I got home.

"Home" is a run-down, cheap rental house, with outdated features like rose-pink tile and peeling floral wallpaper. At least it allowed pets.

My cat, Thunderpaw, raced over to see me as soon as I was through the thresh-hold. I swear, he'd go to school with me if he could.

"Hey, Paw," I mumbled.

"Meeearr!"

"Crazy cat," I muttered. He's always been kind of strange. Probably why we get along so well.

"Nick, can you buy some more milk? We're all out." Angie.

"Sure," I yelled back. No "Hey, Nick, how was your day?" or "Hi, honey, I'm glad you're back!" As soon as I get home, she orders me out of the house. Go figure.

I stomped off to the nearby Safeway, bought the necessary milk with my left over lunch money, and stomped back. Marching through the door, I set the grocery bag on the counter and hollered to Angie that I was going up to my room. I heard a garbled reply from who-knows-where, so I tramped up the stairs to my closet. Er, bedroom.

It's tiny, with a miniature window, a bed that my feet hang off of, a mini-closet, and a desk. It is exactly four-feet by four-feet. It has wooden floorboards, gross flower-print B-grade wallpaper, and a light-socket. My clarinet, and a variety of other instruments, such as my guitar, cluttered the east wall. I thought for a minute, and reached over and grabbed my guitar. Funny, I'd never needed lessons. I just picked it up and started to play. I got it for Christmas from Angie's then-boyfriend when I was in seventh grade.

Picking it up, I brushed the dust off it. The dark, ebony-colored wood gleamed in the faint light from my dusty window. I laid it on my bed, stood up, and took one long step to cross my room. Throwing open my window, I stepped back to the guitar, and sat down. As I played "Stairway to Heaven" my mind wandered back to what I'd done to those football players. How had I slammed them into a wall without touching them? And why had I gotten so mad? They'd bothered me before. Why now did I throw them across the hallway? I couldn't have thrown them without touching them...could I?

The questions went rolling around and around in my brain, and I didn't realize Angie was calling me until she opened my bedroom door, eyes smoldering dangerously.

"Nicholas Eldar Fire, I have been calling you for five minutes!" She looked seriously annoyed.

Angie is a short, rather thick lady with brown hair and brown eyes. She looks kind of like a football player, except she wears makeup.

"Er...sorry?" I offered lamely.

"You're impossible!" She began to storm off, when she turned and told me that Thunderpaw needed to be fed, and that dinner was ready. Ham and cheese sandwiches. Exciting.

"So, what do you want for your birthday?"

Angie's question roused me from my dinner. I swallowed noisily and replied; "Maybe a skateboard. Or...you could get me..." I eyed her speculatively.

"No." She didn't even look up.

"But, Angie!"

"No buts!"

"But..."

"I've told you once, I'll tell you again. You are not taking Drivers Ed, and you will never have a car!"

"Why?"

"Because I said so!"

"Why do you say so?"

"Because I don't want you driving anything mechanical. We wouldn't be able to afford the damage. Plus, you'd probably kill yourself."

I acknowledged that. "I could work." This was said with sinking hopes, though.

"Would you be like a hyper-active-Starbucks-double-mocha addict, never sitting still, irritating your co-workers?"

Oh. She had me there. A look of triumph spread across her broad, stern face. I tried to think of a decent comeback.

"I know people who own cars," I muttered rebelliously. "They might let me drive it."

She snorted. "Sure, a freshman, driving a car. Possibly down the driveway? They wouldn't be your friends, anyways, because you don't have any friends."

As soon as the snub popped out, she instantly looked upset.

"Sorry about that. Just slipped out," she apologized.

"Sure," I said. I felt depressed. I turned back to my ham-n-cheese sandwich, my appetite gone.

"I'll get you the skateboard," she said quietly.

"Well, there goes the surprise," I murmured around my mouthful of dinner.

"Sure does," she laughed lamely.

Later, staring up at the chipped, crumbly ceiling of my room, I lay in bed, trying to visit La-la-Land. I have to take medication to help me sleep. I hate it. But, I need sleep, and Angie wants me to take it, so I do. It just feels wrong. Angie said that the people who were my foster-parents before, when I was a toddler, told her horror-stories of how, when they gave me my sleeping meds, I would fight "like a little wildcat" and when the stuff was finally forced down my throat, I would scream and cry and claw my skin until I fell asleep. They thought I was possessed. Fortunately, I'm not like that anymore. I highly doubt most fifteen year-old kids are.

Even if they are freaks.

I hummed quietly to myself. My mind drifted, slowly growing fuzzy as the drugs took over.

I woke up in a strange place. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was dreaming. Dark, low green curtains were over me. No, they were tree canopies. The sky was grey, churning and stormy, with gruesome purple streaks and flashes of lightning. The trees stirred and moaned, screeching as one bough rubbed against another. A lightning bolt struck ground, causing my hair to stand on end, the smell of ozone filling the air. A burst of fire went up from the north, where the lightning had touched the earth.

"Nicholas."

I turned towards the voice, slowly, like I was in Jell-O. An old man was standing there, watching me. He was tall and lean, not withered like most old people are. I couldn't make out his features. They were blurry, like I was looking through foggy glass.

"Nick, you must wake up. Danger is near."

I couldn't concentrate on what the old man said. My mind kept flitting from one subject to another, none of them making sense.

The old man started to walk closer. I didn't feel any fear. He reached out his hand and put it on my forehead. It was rough and warm.

"Awake!"

I sat bolt-upright on my bed, banging my head on my ceiling in the process. A cool wind floated through my window, slowing my heart-rate towards a normal speed and cooling my sweaty skin. Early-morning sunlight dimly lit my room. Rubbing my forehead and glaring at the ceiling resentfully, I tried to recall my dream. I remembered a hand on my forehead. Someone telling me to wake up because...danger was near? Huh. Weird dream. Probably due to Angie's gratuitous drug-giving.

Standing up slowly, making sure not to knock my head again, I reached toward my door, pulled it open, and clomped down the stairs. Tossing some Pop-Tarts into the toaster, and gulping down some orange juice straight from the carton, I started tapping an antsy tune until Thunderpaw interceded.

"Meeeaay!"

""Mornin', cat,"

"Meeoorr!"

"Weirdo," I muttered under my breath. He turned his golden gaze toward me, and began rubbing his long, rubbery yellow body against the table, looking at me with pleading eyes.

"Aw, c'mon, you know that big-eyes-thing doesn't work on me anymore," I glugged some more OJ.

"MEEEEAAR!"

"Fine, I'll feed you if you shut up. Deal?"

"Mew."

I dumped some Friskies into his dish just as my Pop-Tarts finished. The toaster dinged, announcing breakfast. Juggling the pastries to keep from burning myself, I ripped a paper towel off the roll and dropped it on the table, plunking them on it as soon as it landed. I yelled to Angie, wondering if she was already at the hardware store where she worked. I walked down the short hall that lead to her room, and knocked on her door politely. No answer. _She must be at work or going there, _I thought. I wandered back down the hall, shooting a glance at the calendar as I passed. Saturday. And I had absolutely nothing to do. Wonderful. Miserable and lonely, I walked back into the kitchen, expecting to see Thunderpaw busy chowing down on his breakfast of chicken-flavored Friskies. He wasn't there. The food was only half gone, which was unusual. Thunderpaw was always famished when morning came around. Puzzled, I called his name, which usually brought him running. I saw flash of movement heading down the hall, and then The Creature was there.

"There you are, you freaky cat."

"Rowr..." He looked about uneasily, glancing down the hall.

"What's up with you today, huh?" I watched him, faintly worried. He wouldn't miss Friskies for the world. Suddenly he yowled and raced down the hall. Now I was really worried. Thunderpaw never ran from _anything_, ever, not even big, angry dogs. He was brave. I mean, for a cat.

Slowly, instinctively, the hairs prickling on the back of my neck, I turned around.

In our kitchen, we had a big front window, with a panoramic view of the houses across from us, and both the sidewalk in front of us and the one opposite us.

On the opposite sidewalk, a man was facing my house.

He had a some-sort-of black trench coat on with a hood that he had drawn low over his face, like a cloak a StarWars Sith-Lord would wear. Even though I couldn't see his eyes, somehow I still knew he was watching me.

I shuddered convulsively, feeling my stomach drop to my feet. I reached up and drew the blinds over the windows in a swift movement. Nervously, I stared at them, chewing my lip in agitation. What had freaked me out so much? It wasn't such a big deal. Just some guy in a giant hoodie, I told myself sternly. But I was still tense. What had the old man in my dream said, something about danger? No, it was just a dream. How could a dream have informed me of anything real? Plus, I wasn't in any danger, just some guy taking a little stroll through the neighborhoods here, and he just had to goggle at our overly-decrepit house. No big deal, right?

Exactly two seconds later, someone knocked on the front door.

Grabbing the curtains and yanking them away from the window, I stared out onto the front step. Hoodie-Guy was standing right there. Catching the movement that the curtains made, he whipped his head toward me. His hood cast his eyes in shadow, making them invisible. The darkness stared, paralyzing me in place. He had thin, colorless lips, a long, hawk-like nose, and a sharp chin. I felt myself slowly go numb. I shook it off angrily. I could just call the police..but maybe he had something to say. Maybe there was a fire or something, or maybe he had noticed something out of the ordinary, like...a evil person creeping around the back. Or maybe Angie had left the garage door open. Again.

Plus, if he was a stalker or something , I could probably take him. He wasn't all that big. Even if he had a gun or something, I most likely could get away in time and call the cops. Hopefully.

In the back of my mind, a little voice said I was being cocky and stupid. I ignored it and grabbed the hall phone from it's cradle. In a bad mood, I stalked towards the door. Opening it a crack, I growled;

"What do you want?"

"Nothing of huge interest." The man's voice was oily and slick, a smooth purr. A strange, musty scent drifted toward me. My mind flashed, remembering. Angie had taken me to the reptile zoo when I was ten years old. The man smelled like the zoo.

More specifically, he smelled of snakes.

"Young man, would you mind letting me inside? It appears it is going to rain."

I peered past the man, startled to find he was right. The skies, which just that morning had been clear and sunny, were stormy and gray. The cool breeze had turned icy cold, filled with the smell of rain. And...something else. Something I couldn't place, but was familiar.

Last night's dream flashed through my mind again. _Danger, danger is near, is near, danger is near._

Every instinct started screaming at me to close the door. Alarm bells were ringing wildly in my mind. The man stared intently at me, and I couldn't look away. Strangely enough, I started to get dizzy, like I didn't have enough air. Something in my brain held fast, though, and the fog lifted. The lower half of the man's face scowled, and suddenly all my senses were reeling. I staggered back...and almost stepped on Thunderpaw, who zipped past me and growled, with kitty fierceness, at Hoodie-Guy. Hoodie-Guy looked startled, then terrified. _Terrified. _

The man in the hoodie turned on his heel and raced off, hissing.

I stared at Thunderpaw, awed, who merely licked his paw and blinked at me, mighty pleased with himself. In a daze, I walked into the kitchen and sat on one of our shabby table-chairs, setting the phone down on the tiny kitchen counter. My Pop-Tarts were still on the table, cold and uneaten. Rain began to fall, making a gentle tapping, like little fingers, on the roof. Thunderpaw rubbed against my leg, meowing softly, seeming to ask, "Hey, buddy, you okay?" I reached down and stroked his head, which seemed to reassure him. Something about that man had really given me the jitters. It almost felt like he was...controlling me. Feeling my mind. I shuddered, remembering the snake scent that had wafted off of him. Something was deadly wrong. Or maybe something was just deadly. But I knew one thing for sure. The dream had been right. I was in danger.

_-(~^^~)-_

**R&R please! Need reviews and advice! Then I'll put up the next chapter! **


	3. Chapter 3

_-(~^^~)-_

**R&R please! Need reviews and advice! Then I'll put up the next chapter! **

Chapter Three- Liadán Grey

The weekend passed with no more mishaps, but I was still jumpy. Angie asked me about it, and I just made something up. She seemed to buy it, or just didn't care enough to ask.

On Monday morning, I got up bright and early. It would almost be a relief to escape to school. As the bus pulled up outside, I jogged out to meet it, yelling Angie a hasty good-bye as I went. The bus was, as usual, gross, dirty, and filled with the smell of gym-socks. I landed in a seat next to a kid with a bad case of acne, slamming my backpack on the floor. Acne didn't look at me, just stared out the window at the 'riveting' scene of run-down houses. He didn't attempt to make conversation, so I didn't either. I breathed a sigh of relief when the bus made it to the school. Just as I rushed inside, the bell rang, and I raced to my first class.

Lunch was a drab affair. The food, if you could call it that, was baked beans, stewed hamburger, and canned string beans that were the noxious green of radioactive material. I sat down at a table at the corner of the room, with my back turned towards all the other kids in the cafeteria. All the kids with friends. All the normal kids. I took a bite of my slop. It all tasted like mud. Yum.

With my back to everything and everyone, and hunched over my food, I didn't notice a small figure approaching my table. I didn't even notice when that figure sat at my table, even though no one had ever done that before...while I was there, at least.

"Hi."

I sat bolt-upright and jerked my head up, towards the sound of the voice. A small girl was sitting across from me, eying me curiously. Her black hair was cropped short, along her jaw, and she was tiny, like, maybe five foot exactly. Her eyes were startling. Large and the color of moonlight, and rimmed with long, dark eyelashes. Her features were delicate and small, elfin. She had a golden tan, and she was wearing jeans, and a black-and-gray checkered t-shirt. She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, and one slender raven brow was slowly rising. After a second, I remembered how to speak.

"Er...hi." I felt totally embarrassed.

She grinned at me, showing bright white teeth. "You look confused," she said, laughing. "hey, what type of crap do you have?"

"Um, Lima beans and hamburger and...I _think_ those are string beans..." I trailed off uncertainly.

"Yeah, I don't know exactly what these are on my plate, either." She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. She stuck out her hand, saying;

"My name's Liadán Grey, what's yours?" She was still smiling, but her eyes were serious.

_Liadán, _I thought. Unusual name.

Reaching out, I grabbed her hand and shook it. It was slender, with delicate bones, but her grip was strong.

"Nicholas Fire, but call me Nick," I replied.

As I watched, something flashed in her eyes. Was it fear? Anyway, it was gone so quickly that I assumed I imagined it. She kept staring at me, though, looking into my eyes, seeming to reassess something. I looked down at my lunch, feeling self-conscious...and wary. I wondered if Jason had set her up to play games with my brain. She was certainly cute enough to do that easily.

Abruptly, she laughed. It had a forced edge to it, like she was making herself have the same level of good humor as before.

"Do you like school? It's my first day here," she admitted.

I thought for a second, and replied, wincing slightly; "Er, yeah..." I glanced up quickly at her face. She was watching me with an irritated look.

After a long silence, she rolled her eyes and sighed, "You're lying." Without pause, she she asked, "Why?"

I stared down at the faux wooden print on the tabletop, chewing my lip.

Hunching my shoulders, I muttered; "Whatever." I knew that she had been sent here, now. Might as well let Jason and his cronies have their fun. Why not?

I continued angrily with "A, I don't fit in here, B, I'm treated like crap by everyone, C, I'm useless at most sports, D, My family isn't rich, E, I'm not popular and F, I'm a freak. Getting my gist?" I felt my cheeks and ears getting hot, and got mad at myself for blushing.

"Well, I wouldn't know why, because you seem like a cool dude."

My eyes shot up to hers in astonishment. She was smiling faintly at me, but she still had that annoyed look on her face, and her eyes searched mine. She must have found whatever she was looking for on my mug, because her countenance turned grim, and her silver eyes darkened to iron grey.

Terrified that she was going to leave, and irritated that I was terrified, I tried to speak up. I hadn't realized how starved I was of human conversation. At home, Angie didn't talk much, and Thunderpaw didn't talk at all, which made sense. He's a cat. Duh.

"So, um, h-how are _you_ liking school?" I stuttered. I cursed myself inwardly, frustrated by how idiotic I sounded.

Liadán smiled, and her eyes brightened to silver. "Well, I have a friend, which is a plus." The smile turned impish.

My eyes felt like they would pop out of my head and land on my lunch tray. "You're my friend?" I said the word like I'd never had one before, which was true.

"I think so, yeah," was her reply.

I blinked a couple times, my mind fitting around the idea. Feeling dizzy, I grabbed my unopened bottle of water, unscrewed the lid, and gulped some down.

"You sound like you don't have any friends." I looked up to see her watching me still. I considered saying either _Well, duh, _or _Gee, what gives you _that _idea? _Or maybe: _Are you deaf? Didn't you hear me ranting on about being friendless? Wow._

Instead, I took one more swallow of water and murmured, "Well, people don't..." I glanced over my shoulder, at Jason and Angus, sitting at the jocks table, and continued, "...don't really want to hang out with, you know, me. 'Who wants to sit with the weirdo?' You following?"

"They think you're weird?" She seemed to be gently prodding me for answers.

Unfortunately, I was so pent up, and she was being so nice, that the answers that I guarded so carefully from Angie, my teachers, and the school principal were coming easily.

"Well, duh," I muttered. "Didn't you hear me before? I'm a freak. I've been a freak for my whole life."

My pulse was pounding faster. I felt really, really stupid. All this time I'd kept my secrets, and now I let them loose in a torrent, to someone I hardly even knew, someone probably employed by the "Popular People". Wow, how they would laugh at me.

The same rage that I'd felt Friday began to rise, filling me up and trying to escape. I glowered at her, the rage making me beyond reason. I wanted to kill all the popular, cool people.

Might as well start with her.

Liadán's eyes widened in surprise at my enraged face. She put her slender hands out in front of her in an 'all stop' motion, and murmured; "Hold up, hold up. I won't keep asking questions if it makes you mad, just calm doooown..." It sounded like she was trying to soothe a runaway horse, but it worked. The rage slowly dissipated, leaving me feeling tired and sore. Watching me out of the corner of her eye, she muttered accusingly;

"You should really control yourself better. It's dangerous to let your emotions get so powerful," her eyes were tight and hard.

"How would I do that? And why _should _I control my emotions, anyway? Because you said so?" Who was she to order me around, I'd been going to this school since the beginning of the year. She'd been going for one day. My anger steadily climbing, I continued, "And what in the heck do you mean by the "It's dangerous to let your emotions get so powerful" crap? Dangerous to me or to someone else? How do you control _emotions_?I've never done it-"

She cut me off before I could finish. "Trust me, I _know _you've never controlled your emotions," she growled. "If you had, you wouldn't have gotten so defensive." Liadán folded her long, slender hands on the table.

"I was _not _defensive!"

"Yes you were."

"I was so not!"

"_Yes you were._"

"_No I wasn't_!"

"You know what, this is stupid." Liadán's face was fierce. "_Why _are you so difficult?"

Slowly, I reached up and rubbed my fingers against my temples. I closed my eyes, feeling really tired, like I'd run a marathon.

"Hey." My lids slid open, and revealed, unexpectedly, Liadán's face, smiling again, but filled with infinite sorrow.

"Sorry about that," I murmured.

"S'okay. Haven't had a row like that in a long time."

"You're pretty good at it."

"Funny, that's the first time someone's complemented me on my arguing skills," she said, with slight sarcasm.

"There's a first for everything, you know," I replied back.

"Yeah. Truce?" Liadán put out her hand, for the second time that day, for me to shake. I grasped it, again marveling how someone so small could have such a strong grip.

"Truce." I repeated. Then I grinned and asked; "How come you're so strong? I mean, you're tiny."

Rolling her eyes, she replied; "Oh, gee, can you say _archery_?"

"You know, that rhymes."

She shook her head with mock pity, and fixed me with a sardonic smile. With a suddenness that surprised me, she frowned and stood. I hurried to do the same.

"We're going to be late for our classes if we stay and dawdle any longer," she confessed.

And with that, she disappeared through the cafeteria doors, after dumping her Styrofoam lunch tray in the trash, still mostly full of slop. I quickly followed suit.

In Science, Mrs. Watts was being notoriously evil again, but that was expected. P.E. was fun. The coach gave me free rein on the Gatorade, which he regretted soon after I passed my twentieth lap around the gym. English was as bland and brittle as a piece of year-old toast. I dropped my clarinet in band, which, naturally, made everyone stop and stare at me. Then I ran into Liadán. Literally _ran into._

"Ow! Geez, Nick!"

I helped her up and collected her books for her, apologizing all the while.

"Oh, shut up already. I know you're sorry," she said irritably, taking her books from my waiting hand. "plus, I wasn't looking where I was going, so we can split the blame. Deal?"

I laughed. It would be so cool if she was a real friend, not a set-up from the football team.

Without thinking, I blurted, "Thanks for doing this."

She gave me a strange look. "You're glad I rammed into you?"

"Um, no. Not really," I felt my nerves giving out, but I forged on before they collapsed completely. "I mean, thanks for being my friend." I looked at her hopefully. She laughed.

"No prob," Liadán gave me one of her signature thoughtful looks. Then she started laughing hysterically, and said, "You should have seen your face! It was priceless-" when she stopped suddenly and sucked in a breath. "He's here," she growled, her voice just a monotone.

She looked at me, seeming to remember my existence. "Listen to me, Nick." She sounded fearful. "Get home. Don't stop anywhere, don't talk to anyone." Her voice was pleading.

"Why?" I was confused, of course. That happens a lot to idiots.

"Please, just do it. As a personal favor." She did this unfair, big-pleading-silver-eyes thing.

"Whatever." I felt rebellious. Why should I take orders from her?

"Make sure to catch the bus." She began to walk off, when she turned on her heel and half-ran back. "Nick, have you had any unplanned visitors lately?"

Immediately my mind flashed to Hoodie-Guy. _It's almost like she expected me to have a 'visitor.' _Freaky.

Since I really didn't know what she would do with the information, I muttered uneasily; "Yeah, there was this guy with a giant hoodie who wanted to get out of the rain. Why? What's it to you?"

Her eyes grew as big as saucers, and her whole body started trembling.

"Hoodie..." she mumbled. Her eyes were as big as plates now. Unexpectedly, she gasped out, "Did he smell like snakes?"

I stared at her in amazement. How had she known?

She must have taken my silence, or possibly my gaping mouth, as a confirmation. Suddenly, she was very crisp and businesslike, snapping out orders like a mechanical soft-ball pitcher. "Get to the bus, don't stop, and..." she hesitated. "pack some clothes, food, and an extra pair of shoes. We're leaving."

I felt like she'd pulled the world out from under my feet, and I didn't miss the _'we' _part. As I stared at her in astonishment, she reached out her hand and pushed me, nearly knocking me to the floor. "Get to the bus, you idiot! You think it's going to wait forever? BEAT FEET!"

With that friendly reminder from my wonderful friend, I bolted towards the door.

Now, there are two types of bolting. The first is where you take a board or something and barricade a door. The second is where you run really fast.

I did the third.

I was flying. Literally flying with speed. I leaped directly over a student, who yelled some really nasty words in my general direction. Racing along, I didn't realize I had come to the front doors until I smacked into them at the perfect speed for face-squashing.

SMACK!

THUNK!

"Ouch! OW!" I hopped around, holding my wrist. I had tried to open the doors with my hand, using my momentum to force them open, and stopping my helter-skelter sprint. I had forgotten that you had to _pull_ open the doors, not push.

I brought my right wrist to my face, inspecting it carefully. Blood oozed out of some broken skin, trickling down my arm, dripping off my elbow, and pooling on the floor. The bone was bent at a strange angle.

"Aw, crap," I groaned. It was busted, that was easy to see. As if I didn't have enough problems already. To make matters worse, all the students and teachers had taken off while Liadán and I were talking. So no help there. I would have to catch the bus, or risk walking home.

Cradling my whole right arm close to my body, I took a step and grimaced. Walking jarred my arm, making it feel as if it were on fire. Fun.

When I eventually made it outside, gingerly easing the swinging doors open, the bus was gone. _Great, _I thought bitterly, _you miss the bus, and have to walk all the way home. _Oh well, at least I wouldn't have the pain of the bus-ride. That would make walking seem like a a picnic. I carefully pulled my shirt over my head and wrapped it around my wrist, trying to stop the incessant bleeding.

I was about halfway home when I saw them.

Really big guys, like, seven to eight feet tall. They had thick shoulders and squat, corded necks. They were wearing an assortment of sport jerseys, rock concert tees, polo shirts, old-man sweaters, and sunglasses. Then I noticed something else.

They were watching _me_, Hoodie-Guy was with _them_, and they had _me_ ringed in, with _my_ back to an _alley_.

Slowly, with overdone casualness, ignoring the throbbing of my wrist and the pounding of my heart, I turned and walked into the alley. In it, the cold was much more intense, almost like a walk-in refrigerator. I shivered and cursed the weather.

Wishing for a jacket, or at least a shirt (you couldn't count my t-shirt, wet and sticky with blood as it was), I continued walking, exploring my surroundings, and looking for a way out to the street again.

Then I saw the wall. The alley was a dead end.

Worried, I wished a cop would show up to get the creepy stalkers away from me. Heck, I wished a whole police squad would appear. This was really beginning to freak me out.

All the while, my skin went icy cold, but not from the chill air. I was busy recalling the snaky scent that had rolled off of the hooded man, when I had a sudden, terrifying thought. They could easily trap me here, in the alley with a _dead end. _Maybe they had...planned it.

Feeling panicky, I turned and jogged for the exit/entrance, despite the arcs of agony in my arm.

They were waiting for me.

Seeing them there, blocking my one way out, with Hoodie-Guy leading the way made the fear go into spiral-mode. With me standing there, frozen in place, Hoodie-Guy leaned his head upwards, and pushed his hood back. He had black hair that waved gently, cascading to his shoulders. His face looked the same as it had on the weekend, of course, gaunt, angular, and white. His thin lips pulled back into a cruel smile. His teeth were filed to sharp points. But his eyes were, by far, the worst.

They were snake-eyes.

Unnaturally yellow, like a lemon, they had vertical pupils, slit-like and cunning. Cold blooded.

The eyes locked with mine, and time seemed to slow down, making it very, very hard to move. _Hypnosis, _a little voice inside me whispered.

Moving at a snail's pace, I reached over my shoulder and grabbed the first thing I could in my backpack, drawing it out with my left, uninjured hand, and brandishing it like a sword. Hoodie-Guy/Snake Man laughed. It was like a cobra slithering across sand.

"You frighten me, with your terrifying weapon. Don't play a sour note." He laughed again.

I looked down in confusion. The "weapon" was my clarinet. Oh, joy. With my heart in my throat, and my stomach in my feet, I prepared myself for a fight, no matter how ineffectual the gesture was.

"Back off," I squeaked. The big football players with sunglasses started laughing. They sounded remarkably like Angus, the sophomore football-guy. The hooded man hissed at them to be quiet.

"Now then," he said in a smooth voice, "Why don't you come with us, Nicholas, and we shall show you some unforgettable things. Things that will change your life forever." His golden eyes gleamed as he said this.

I pretended to think. "Um, no thanks." With a shock, I realized he'd said my name. How could he have known?

"Oh, that's a shame," Snake Man continued. "Because you _are _coming with us, whether you wish it or not." He gave me the same, thin-lipped smile. "Welcome, Nicholas Fire, to your first and only job. My name is Sir Adder Drake. Now, come along quietly, and don't make a scene if you value both your and your mother's life."


	4. Chapter 4

_-(~^^~)-_

**R&R please! Need reviews and advice! Then I'll put up the next chapter!**

Chapter Four-I Go Traveling

I was about to say something really smart like, "Holy crap, I'm gonna kill you", when a familiar face burst through the line of greyish, yellow-skinned, colorful t-shirted zombie people.

"Liadán!" I yelled. "What the heck are you _doing_?_"_

In reply, she said a rude word. Then: "Saving your sorry butt, bright one! Get ready to run!"

"No, I want to help!" I grimaced as I thought of more running. My wrist hurt enough already.

So instead of running, I was an idiot. I was going to help.

Yeah, right.

I looked down at my clarinet, and at the nearest grey-yellow man. Everything seemed to slow way down. Liadán, running at full tilt, seemed to move as fast as an ant in amber. Suddenly, it seemed that my brain was on autopilot, like someone else was at the controls, making the right moves.

I judged the distance.

And I threw it.

The clarinet twirled in the air, doing graceful cartwheels, and then hitting the man's chest with a sickening _crunch._ I watched as my clarinet slid all the way through his lungs and spinal column, opening a gaping hole where no holes should be.

The man gurgled, choking up a blood that was black instead of red. He gagged, spluttered, and fixed me with a gruesome sneer, snarling in a guttural, animal-like voice,

"You, beat me, boy? I'll kill you myself!" Then he let out a barking laugh, filled with cruelty. The effect was marred slightly by him coughing up more blood. Finally, with a wheezing groan, and with one more black glare, he slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap. I stared at the corpse, to numb to be horrified. An unknown screeching sound entered my ears, along with a strange rattling, like... a rattlesnake. Turning slowly, I saw Snake Man, his face contorted with rage. I then noticed blood seeping out of a gouge in his shoulder.

"You both shall pay for this!" he swore furiously. His golden eyes started to glow electric-white.

Vaguely, in the back of my mind, I felt someone grab my left wrist.

"Come on!" Liadán urged. "There will be time for guilt later. For now, let's get out of here!"

She began to drag me along, and that roused me. Shaking my head to clear the fumes, I pushed my feelings aside.

We ran.

"This is your home?"

"Um...yeah."

She sighed, taking in the sunken roof, the dilapidated front door, the yard choked with weeds.

"It's not so bad," I growled defensively, even though I knew it was.

"Why don't you take better care of it?" she inquired.

I rolled my eyes.

"You should have mowed the lawn, at least." she murmured wearily.

"We don't own a lawn mower." I shot back irritably.

"You know what, just stop, okay?" Her face was dangerous, but still tired.

I grunted. "So, you can diss my house, say I don't control my emotions well enough-"

She let out a barking laugh. "I also spared your butt a serious kicking."

"Well, yeah."

Liadán looked at me curiously. "How did you kill that Berserker with a clarinet? No one can kill with magic unless they have the proper training, even when they are born into it, and you propelled that clarinet with magic."

My mind stopped functioning correctly at this point. One, a girl I had met that morning, become friends with, (maybe), and had saved me from crazy, polo-shirted, slinky sun-glassed Frankenstein impersonators, and a creepy overly-evil-snake-eyed dude, was suggesting that I run away to...who knows where, with her along. Two, I would have to leave everything I've ever known, and probably my cat, who I wouldn't miss terribly. Also, I had killed someone, and she said not to wallow in guilt. Yeah, that's likely. Four, what were "Berserkers", and Five, _WHAT IN THE FREAKING HECK DID SHE MEAN BY MAGIC_?

"Excuse me," I asked very politely, to keep myself from losing it, "did you say magic? Did you say, perhaps, that I used magic?" Still very polite.

She watched me warily. "Yes, I did say magic."

"Ah." I felt sick.

She gave me a sympathetic look. "We have a lot to talk about, Nick. It's time that you found out what you are."

The microwave let out it's hideous, tortured beeping, informing me and Liadán that it was done. Reaching inside with my left hand, I grabbed Liadán's chipped coffee mug, and then mine, filled with hot chocolate. I set them down on the table with a crack, and sat slowly in my creaky table-chair, just like any other day. Except now, I had a broken wrist that throbbed terribly, and was sitting across from a girl who had saved me from a creepy snake dude and football players with skin issues. Also, I was never this nervous when I was home alone, or with Angie and Thunderpaw.

Liadán was staring at my right wrist, wrapped in my shirt. I hadn't gotten the chance to change or get on some more clothes when I got home, which didn't lower my nervousness one bit.

"Here, let me see it," she murmured. Before I could protest, she grabbed my left forearm and jerked my bloody wrist across the table, unwrapping it as she went. When she got an eyeful of my injury, she winced.

The blood had clotted on my shirt, now laying on my kitchen table, and the pale skin of my wrist. The bone stuck out jaggedly, making my stomach lurch. When she gently prodded it with a finger, it was all I could do to keep from howling.

"Man, that's bad," she whispered.

"You think?" was all I could manage.

Her face was grim. Grabbing a tea towel off of the counter, she ordered, "Bite this," and shoved it in my mouth. Then, without warning, her right hand gripping the bone above the break, and the left gripping below, she set the bone.

My teeth dug into the towel, and every muscle in my body went stiff as a board, but I didn't scream. Then Liadán, her face grey as stone, muttered huskily, "It's over. Good job," then, she let out a whisper of a laugh and said, "Wow, you're white."

I spit the towel out of my mouth. "Well, you're grey."

She ignored me and sipped her cocoa.

Sighing, I gingerly grabbed mine, and gulped about half of the warm chocolateyness down. When I set my mug down, I noticed Liadán watching me. Then she laughed.

"You have a chocolate mustache," she giggled.

Grimacing, I wiped at it. Then I got down to business.

"You were talking about magic," I fished.

She reached down to stroke Thunderpaw, who had materialized under her chair. She replied slowly, "Yes, I was talking about magic. It is real."

I began to chuckle, and then the chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. A howl. I noticed how crazy I sounded.

Liadán let me continue until tears started down my cheeks. Then, wiping my eyes, I said, still laughing, "That's a good one. 'Magic is real.' Please."

"I'm not jesting, Nick."

I stared at her, good feelings gone. Actually, I was feeling insanity dawn on me, bit by bit.

"We don't have to leave yet," she said slowly, "but we do have to be ready. We have to expect an attack at all times. Drake is no fool. He will be weakened from my little memento-"

"Wait!" I nearly yelled. Okay, here's a little field-trip to my mind at this minute. It was, literally, a war zone. Bombs going off. Explosions. You know, the whole shebang. "You did that to Snake-Dude? You made him _bleed_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Will you stop being so immature about this? Really, it wasn't all that hard. He was too busy watching you."

I felt like I was going to start crying, which would be really embarrassing. Clumsily, I snagged the handle of my mug and gulped the rest down, ignoring the burning sensation in my throat. All of a sudden, I felt a cool hand on my arm, gripping it tightly.

"I know this is hard for you, Nick," Liadán muttered. "but snap out of it." Her eyes were fierce, intense. "This is important. We have to talk this over, and I'd grab an Tylenol or two for that wrist." Leaning away, she folded her arms across her chest and watched me through narrowed eyes. Waiting.

Sighing, I stood and made for the cabinet where various medicines were stored. While I was groping blindly inside for the container, Liadán began her explanation.

"Magic, most certainly, is real. Very real. In fact," Here she paused, then continued, "I used it to injure Drake, and you used it to destroy that...man."

The silence was very loud while I thought about that. Liadán sat quietly, waiting for me to gather my wits.

"What do you mean?" I asked haltingly. "There's no actual proof that magic exists."

Liadán sighed, and, rolling her eyes, said huffily, "Well, there's no proof that it _doesn't _exist, either. Neither side has been proven, because we try to keep magic a secret. It's very dangerous," she continued, fixing me with solemn eyes. "If it leaked out to the public, many people would die, most likely. Plus, we value our privacy."

I had to ask the unavoidable question. "Who's 'we'?"

She tucked a stray lock of bobbed, inky-black hair behind one ear. "If you actually get your Tylenol and take it, I'll tell you. Deal?" Watching me calmly, she waited for my reply.

"Whatever."

"Good. Now-" she paused abruptly, and then drew in a sharp intake of breath. "Oh!" she gasped.

"What?" Worry flitted through my mind. Was the snake man here?

Liadán turned to me, shock written across her delicate face. Then her features turned accusing.

"You didn't tell me you had a cat," she said, sounding irked.

"You were petting him. Plus, I didn't think I needed to tell you. It's kind of obvious."

"Well, you should have."

"Alrighty then..." she wanted me to tell the obvious. I had never thought of her as a simpleton, but she was certainly acting like one.

"Hmm..." she watched Thunderpaw with a thoughtful, calculating look, and he returned the look soberly. "I must have just been petting him out of habit." She smiled faintly. "I have a cat, too. She's a Savannah. You know, the ones that look like mini cheetahs? That's what she is, but she's a little..." here she paused, then continued, "odd. Her eyes are kind of...unusual. Anyway, what's your cat's name?" she waited politely for my reply, trying to make small-talk.

I was still rummaging in the cupboard, trying without noticeable success to find that pain medication. Really, how far could a legless, immobile bottle travel?

"His name's Thunderpaw." I rolled my eyes as I said the familiar name. When I had first received Thunderpaw as my fifth birthday present, he'd been just a kitten, and had romped around our apartment (Angie and I had lived in varying cheap apartments around the city until just this year) making as much noise as I had. Which, since I was five, was quite a bit.

The name Thunderpaw fit, and stuck. As did Thunderpaw. He stuck to me like glue, and glue that was particularly noisy, loud, and messy.

Finally, after groping through many cobwebs and dust, I found the blasted Tylenol. The bottle was completely covered in grime, but there were seven pills left. I figured they would do the trick.

"I'm going to get started, packing your stuff." Liadán.

Wait a minute. "Didn't you say you'd tell me who 'we' is?" I inquired.

She thought for a minute. "Yup, seems like I did."

I waited.

"I'll tell you later, Nick. Right now, you need to pack. And, since you haven't started yet, I thought I would, because I'm assuming you want to live to see tomorrow. But, we can sit around and wait for Drake to show up, too...all depends on what you want, right?"

I blinked at her. She _did _have a point.

"As I see it," she continued, "we have about an hour to get as far away from Seattle as we can. The next train out of here leaves at 4:57, and right now it's-" -she paused to glance at the clock- "-4:35. So, we have to leave soon. Got it?"

I just looked at her. "Okay?"

"Good."

"And...Liadán?"

She turned and looked at me. "Yeah, Nick?"

"...why...what..."

"Spit it out, Nick."

"I want to pack my clothes. It's weird if you do."

She grinned at me, her eyes rolling. "Well then. I wasn't planning on ogling your briefs or anything."

My face turned bright red, and I stomped up the stairs to my room.

Luggage (AKA one bag) in hand, I stood in front of the bullet train, watching as the shiny white sides slid by, slower and slower...

"Nick. Nick. NICK!"

I finally realized my name was being called. Jerking back from Lala-Land, I say Liadán, standing impatiently, tapping her foot. Literally.

"I thought that pushy, arrogant girls only tapped their toes in movies," I said rather snidely.

"Shut it," she grunted.

As the train pulled away from the station, I remembered the note we'd left for Angie, against Liadán's better judgement.

_Dear Angie,_

_I don't know how to put this. I'll just start with..._

_Life sort of has a funny way of jumping out at you, when you least expect it. Nothing stays the same for long. _

_Well, I'll just say this: It's not safe for me to be with you anymore. I'm not who I thought I was. I'm...different._

_So, I have to say goodbye._

_I'm sorry, Angie. I love you._

_Nick_


End file.
